Wheeling Gull Isle all hail king neptune

While her thoughts may have swayed in their devotion for the grey woman, Tuulikki’s footsteps hold steadfast.  She keeps alongside the other, trying to focus on something that is not her thirst. It does not make for easy travel, already fatigued. The saltwater dries her out.  The last time she’d had something fresh to drink had been earlier the day before when she left the river’s edge and dared into the ocean on the sandbar.  She’d be well on her way in travel if she hadn’t been intercepted but, perhaps, the spirit is right in front of her.

The idea Komentaja is dead doesn’t faze the little wolf.  The spirits have guided her to the coast.  It is not farfetched they guided her to Komentaja. Tuulikki had been assured when she left for her destination that she would know what she is looking for when she finds it.  Shed been unwavering wanting to follow the woman, pulled to her with some force she couldn’t explain when she had other things far more important on her mind.  

“You are dead,” Tuulikki observes.  Of course.

Little wind does not offer anything else until they get where they are going, quiet, dragging her feet beneath her.  If only she  can stop for a short time, her feet might stop burning, but as if on cue, Komentaja ushers her forward with hope.  Her nose doesn’t catch the scent of fresh water and she’s pulled temporarily but the other speaking.  It is more she doesn’t quite understand, trying to grasp her mind around the last day.  Tuulikki has spoken to spirits; they have spoken back, but to see one in such a vision that she were almost lifelike?

Tuulikki shakes her head and she suddenly hears the rush of water falling from high up.  Her mouth is too dry to even offer salivating with excitement and all she wants to do is rush forward and drink everything in front of her.  She hesitates, expecting the other to go forward, but the realization sets in and she takes a few steps forward until the ground beneath her dampens, soaking between her toes.  She lowers her head and drinks, lapping at the water until she feels she might expel it all at once.  It takes a moment to gather herself, straightening her shoulders and lifting her head a little to look back at the smokey figure; a whisper in the wind.

“Olen tullut kuolema.”  Tuhoaja maailmoista.

With a sharp inhale, she nods her head toward the other:  “Wanheda.”

"i am become death," "destroyer of worlds," & "commander of death"